The players walked to the corner, crossed the street and went into the saloon without an effort at concealment. The place appeared empty, save for a bartender who was washing glasses behind the bar, and a heavy, coarse-featured man lounging near the end of the bar with a half-consumed high ball before him. "Gimme a beer," ordered Swanson, throwing a coin onto the bar; "what you have, Ben?" "Make it two," replied Kennedy. There was no sign of Williams, and only a narrow doorway, leading somewhere toward the rear, gave a clue as to his probable egress from the barroom. The bartender, having rung up the amount of the sale on the cash register, exchanged a few words in a low tone with the man at the end. Then he strolled back and stood near where Swanson and Kennedy were wasting time over their drinks. "We were expecting to meet a friend here to-night," remarked Swanson, deciding to take a new tack with the bartender. "Rather tall, slender young fellow. Has anyone been in?" "Young fellow came in a while ago something like that," replied the bartender. "Seemed to be expecting someone, but turned around and went out. Maybe that was him." They knew he was lying, and Swanson, without changing expression, said: "Must have thought he was in the wrong place, or too early. Maybe he'll come back. We'll stick around awhile." Had they known what was transpiring in the private room just beyond the doorway their interest would have been greater. The big man who had stood at the end of the bar had gone at the first opportunity and was reporting to Easy Ed Edwards, who grew venomous with hate, while Williams sat shaking with fright. "I knew they'd get on. If they report to Clancy I'm done for," he said. "Shut up," ordered the gambler angrily. "They haven't seen you and they don't know I'm here. Who are they, Jack?" "I don't know dem," said the ex-fighter. "Dey's a big, husky lookin' guy, a Dutchman, I guess, wid a blue suit"---- "It's Swanson," said Williams. "He's been looking at me as if he knew something for two or three days. He has followed me here." "De oder one is a smaller, wiry sort o' guy. Got on a light suit"---- "It must be McCarthy," whined Williams. "He's always with Swanson. They're looking for me. I wish I had kept out of this." "Listen," ordered Edwards coldly. "This fellow McCarthy is the one we want. If we can get him out of the way it'll be easy and I can get even with that big, fat lobster, Baldwin, for trying to double cross me. Jack, you go out there and get in a mix-up with them and take a poke at the little fellow that'll keep him from playing ball for a week. Is the bartender a friend of yours?" "One of me best pals," replied the ex-fighter. "Leaf it to me. I'll land de punch dat'll fix dat fresh, young guy." The fighter strolled back to the barroom and resumed his stand at the end of the bar, eyeing the two ball players. As he tapped the bar the bartender walked to him.